


and he never wanted to leave

by dearestwinter



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Abusive Parents, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Angst and Feels, Backstory, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Whump, Light Angst, M/M, Magical Artifacts, Minor Injuries, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Platonic Cuddling, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, References to Canon, Roach is So Done (The Witcher), Sad Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Sad Jaskier | Dandelion, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:47:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22548019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearestwinter/pseuds/dearestwinter
Summary: After an unfortunate event that results in Roach leaving her rider to his own devices, Crown Prince Geralt of Lyria and Rivia doesn't expect to find an old crumbling castle in the middle of the forest. But by far, the strangest thing in that place is a boy with flowers in his hair.//Or the one in which Jaskier is Jenny of Oldstones and Geralt is the Prince of Dragonflies.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 12
Kudos: 96





	1. Julian

**Author's Note:**

> The old gods and the new and Melitele said the witcher AND asoiaf, so I wrote about both. 
> 
> English is not my first language so let me know if you find any grammatical errors.
> 
> Also, I have no idea how often I will update this fic so please be patient with me. Comments are love!

It's a hot summer day, far too hot to be walking through the forest with a limp. Geralt honestly can't blame Roach for his misfortune; she's a quiet and obedient horse, but nobody is immune to fear. He himself has heard enough rumors about the nasty pack of wolves prowling these lands, and even then he had decided to travel without an escort. It had proven to be a very questionable life choice when Roach heard the ominous howls in the distance and threw Geralt off her back in favor of running back home to safety.

Luckily for Geralt, his leg isn't broken. Just a sprained ankle, nothing he hasn't gone through before during his training days with his master-at-arms. Granted, that was in a courtyard with tall walls surrounding him. Now it's getting dark, and the threat of wolves catching his scent and ripping him apart doesn't sound much better for him than it did for poor Roach. Counting his blessings, at least Geralt has his sword strapped to his back if those fuckers come sniffing, even if he has nothing else. It would be nice to have his waterskin to soothe his parched throat, but his bag had been tied to Roach's saddle, hence why he's decided to walk and see if he can find a stream. The nearest village is too far for him to walk on a foot and a half.

The cool air that the mountain at his back provides as the sun goes down is wonderful for his sweat-drenched body. Geralt is not a man to give in easily, but as the minutes pass and with it the sunlight fades, he starts to lose hope of finding a secluded place to spend the night, if Melitele doesn't will he makes it out of this damned forest. He thinks that maybe he could try to climb a tree, risking to aggravate his ankle more than it already is, but it's still better than being on the ground if the wolves come.

Just when Geralt starts looking for a good tree with a branch strong enough to support his weight the whole night, the thick of the forest gives way to flat land. As he gets closer, he thinks the gods must not hate him as badly as he had previously thought. The ruins of the castle are a sight for his sore eyes, but just to be sure he unsheathes his sword and looks for the evident signs of recent habitation.

Not much remains of the old castle except the foundation and the moss-covered stone wall of what Geralt figures was once a great hall. A part of the ceiling is intact, with vines creeping in the gap between the stones. But no sign of freshly burned out fires, not even an object that could have been forgotten by someone spending a night here. Only the ruins and the wind rustling the leaves scattered on the ground. Geralt gives the wall a kick with his good foot, testing its sturdiness before making himself as comfortable as he can on the corner, the partly collapsed outer wall concealing him in case someone or something comes.

His ankle feels unnaturally hot to the touch and throbs like a bitch, so he tears off a piece of his shirt to bind it with. Geralt's unsheathed sword rests on his lap, and he lies down on the cold hard floor, hoping he can get some sleep. He closes his eyes and lets his mind wander; he thinks about his mother, Queen Visenna. Even if Roach made it home and a guard let the queen know she was without her rider, Geralt knows that his mother wouldn't send for her knights to look for him right away. She's never cared much for what Geralt does at home or outside it, as long as he's present during her great banquets and does not grunt at any lady who might try to conversate with him. It bothered Geralt as a child that she was more attentive of her kingdom than of him, but now he's grateful for that, knowing the extent of his princely duties. As long as he's left alone most of the day, he can keep performing them just to please his mother for a while. 

Geralt falls asleep after a long time, finally overcome by exhaustion.

When he wakes up in the morning, he realizes two things: first, the sunlight is beating down on his face and making his eyes sting even through closed eyelids. Second, there's a heavy blanket draped over his body.

A _blanket_.

Geralt startles badly, the sudden movement sending a jolt of pain up his leg. He takes a look at his surroundings, catching sight of his sword propped up against the wall. He gets up and takes it, gripping the hilt until his knuckles are white, his heart racing inside his chest. But everything seems as quiet and undisturbed as the night before. Still, someone has been here so Geralt needs to get moving before they come back.

Geralt looks around for his boots, and finds a waterskin and a bundle next to them. He takes the waterskin, pops the lid open, and sniffs the content inside it. Predictably, it’s water. Geralt’s throat is so dry it’s almost painful, and he doesn’t want to even think how long it’s been since he last drank something, but caution makes him put the waterskin aside. Next he grabs the bundle, squeezing it carefully, and he almost smirks at the spongy feeling.

Brown bread, still _warm_ as if it came out of the oven just moments ago. So the person who left these things here must be near. Geralt ignores the bread too, almost guiltily, and puts on his boots. He decides at the last moment to take the bread and waterskin with him as last resources, in case he feels he’s about to pass out from lack of food and drink and wouldn’t mind very much the risk of being poisoned.

He hops on one leg more than walks south as the morning sun gradually rises in the sky. It’s around midday when he hears it, a _rushing_ sound coming from the distance. Geralt hurries his step as much as he can, and is met with a narrow stream glinting under the sunlight. 

The cool water is a blessing for his parched throat, and Geralt sighs when he's finished drinking as much as he can take. It's a hot and stifling day, and Geralt is already sweating, so he decides to wash up a bit in the stream. He takes off his shirt and sits on a rock, getting his swollen ankle under the cold water. He's busy washing off yesterday's dirt from his face and arms when he hears the sound of twigs breaking under someone's feet. 

In a second Geralt has his sword out of its scabbard, and turns around to find a man crouching by a berry bush nearby, humming a melody and examining one of the berries in his hand before he shrugs and drops it inside a small bag. The man startles badly when he hears Geralt making his way towards him, and his cornflower blue eyes widen as he sees the bright steel. 

"Oh, hello there," he says, rising his unoccupied hand as he places the bag on the floor slowly, his eyes never leaving Geralt's. 

"Who the hell are you?" 

"I, um, I'm Julian. Julian of Oldstones." 

The way he says the name, Geralt thinks, is more of a question than an affirmation, as if Geralt is _expected_ to know who he is. He watches this Julian, taking in his appearance. Twenty if he's a day, slim, with brown hair under a crown of forget-me-nots that brings out the deep blue of his eyes. Geralt doesn't think this _boy_ can be a menace, so he lowers his sword.

Julian lets out a sigh of relief and gives Geralt a small smile, his eyes travelling down Geralt's shirtless form to rest on his feet. 

"So, how is your ankle today? I hope you don't mind but I took the liberty of checking it while you were sleeping and it was quite swollen. I think you will be fine if you don't walk around too much for a few days--"

Geralt frowns. "It was you who gave me those things?"

Julian's eyes follow his hand to where Geralt's gesturing at his shirt lying near the edge of the stream, the waterskin and bread on top of it.

"Why, yes," he replies. "You, my fellow stranger, showed up unannounced and decided to take a nap in _my_ castle. I even lent you a blanket so you wouldn't freeze your balls off, and what is it that you do when you wake? You decline my humble offer of bread and water. That's incredibly rude, might I add."

Geralt watches him for a moment before turning back the way he came. Julian follows him hesitantly, but when Geralt sits on the floor and starts unwrapping the bundle containing the bread, the boy catches up with him and sits by his side. Geralt raises an eyebrow at him, and wolfs down half of the bread. 

"Oh, wow, you were _really_ hungry."

"Hmm."

Geralt finishes the bread in less than a minute, replaying the previous conversation in his mind. After a few minutes, he speaks.

"You said the ruined castle was yours." 

Julian smiles, his fingers fidgeting with the flowers in his hair. "Well, yeah. It's called Oldstones, and it's been the home of my ancestors for thousands of years. Are you sure you didn't know about it?" 

"No." It's Geralt's answer.

"Funny," he says. At seeing Geralt's face, he adds. "Oh, sorry, it is completely alright. Usually people know who I am, even those few as yourself who happen to stumble upon my castle by mere accident. So I guess I'm not used to being, you know, _unrecognized_ or something." 

Geralt hums again. Julian starts talking about his day, and the weather, and how the summer flowers are starting to bloom. Geralt listens, annoyed by times but still grateful that he isn't being asked questions by this strange boy. But suddenly Julian falls silent, and looks at him. Geralt thinks he can see something akin to recognition in those bright blue eyes, and it makes him feel a bit queasy to the stomach. 

"Of course you're welcome to stay in my castle for as long as you need. Or I can take you to the nearest town so you can get your ankle fixed by Mera, our lovely healer. She's quite good, and she might give you some salve for half the price if she sees you with me. Or even for free, who knows?"

Geralt follows the boy down to the ruined castle while Julian chatters until Geralt feels the beginning of a headache making itself known.

"So, the gods know I don't have much, but I am willing to share my meager belongings with you only because you didn't stick that very scary-looking sword through my bowels." 

Geralt snorts. "I might change my mind yet, Julian." 

"Oh, but you won't. See, now that we're getting to know each other a bit better," Julian says, taking a handful of berries and popping them in his mouth. "You can call me Jaskier. My closest acquaintances do, after all." 

"Why?", asks Geralt.

"I like it better than Julian, and it suits me. And how may I call you? Is it Prince Geralt or just Geralt?"


	2. After the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt and Jaskier face the threat in the forest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At long last, here's the second chapter.
> 
> Thank you to [srgtmarshmallow](http://srgtmarshmallow.tumblr.com) and [little-piece-of-tamlin](http://little-piece-of-tamlin.tumblr.com) on Tumblr for beta reading this chapter. You're amazing!!!
> 
> TW for animal death.
> 
> Comments are always much appreciated, and they motivate me to write a lot faster.

"Just Geralt," he replies, while at the same time thinking, _‘fuck’_.

He doesn't want to let Jaskier know he is a prince so soon after meeting him. Geralt wonders for a moment how the boy knew but Jaskier's voice brings him back to reality.

"Alright, ‘Just-Geralt’. And before you ask, yes, I have been to court once and saw you at a tourney in honour of the… queen's nameday? I don't quite remember; I was way too distracted by the city. I had never seen such a big place, and all those _things_ people were selling."

And that's when Jaskier begins talking about everything he had seen at the city. Geralt listens, because really there isn’t much else to listen to, and watches Jaskier out of the corner of his eye. He has a dreamy look on his face that Geralt had seen earlier at the stream, like the boy actually loses himself in those memories of Melitele knows how long ago. Geralt also notices that Jaskier tends to trail off with some of the things he says only to pick back up whatever topic he had left off an hour ago. It had been frustrating at first, but now Geralt doesn't really mind. As if he's getting _used_ to Jaskier.

He needs to go home as soon as he can.

Which ends up not being very soon at all as it turns out. As the sun goes down, the distant clouds that Geralt had seen on the east around midday, start approaching them and fast. The air around the ruins of Oldstones grows humid and the cool mountain breeze they had enjoyed has vanished. There's a storm coming. He tells Jaskier that they should have dinner and go to sleep since there's no sense in being out of the crude shelter they have when the storm hits.

They eat a small dinner consisting of the berries that Jaskier had picked earlier that day, another, quite sizeable, piece of brown bread like the one he had given Geralt this morning, and some honey Jaskier had bought in the village.

"How near is this village, Jaskier?", he asks, thinking of risking the walk there as soon as the storm lets up.

"It's not far, but there's a problem." Jaskier finishes what's left of his dinner before adding. "We'll have to wait a couple of days at most after the storm passes because the road will get muddy and impassable."

Geralt curses. Then he hears the rumble of thunder in the distance and curses again.

"Hey," calls Jaskier. "At least you'll be spending some more time with your new best friend. It can't be that bad, can it?"

"We're not friends."

"That's rude and unnecessary because _we are_."

Geralt hums, and stands up, putting a hand on the wall for support. His ankle has started throbbing maddeningly again, and all he wants is to go to bed. Or the two itchy blankets (one spread on the hard-packed earth and another to cover his body) that he is calling his bed for the time being. He could do worse, he thinks. He could be dinner to a pack of wolves.

As Geralt settles under his blanket, he watches Jaskier walk to his bag and take out a bedroll. He's laying it out on the floor when he looks up at Geralt.

"What are you doing?" he asks, a confused frown pulling at his features.

"What?"

"Geralt," Jaskier whines. "We were supposed to share my things, remember? You're going to get wet there."

Geralt hums, biting his tongue to avoid saying something sarcastic but then he hears it. Rain starts splattering loudly against the forest ground. Barely ten seconds later, he feels it leaking through the pitiful excuse of ceiling that's left, cold fat drops hitting him in the face, and he hears Jaskier giggle as he gets into his bedroll across the room from Geralt. To where it's dry.

Jaskier is looking at him. "I told you so." Then he pats the ground next to him.

Geralt sighs, picks up the blankets with much more annoyance than he really feels, and walks to where Jaskier is. The bedroll is clearly made for one person use only but Geralt finds that there is enough space to accommodate them both, albeit a bit uncomfortably. He thinks Jaskier's slim frame probably helps. The boy had taken off his stupid flower crown some time when Geralt wasn't paying attention; messing up his brown locks even more. He's watching Geralt with a thoughtful look on his face, those cornflower blue eyes bright against the lightning igniting the sky above.

After a while, he turns around and mumurs, "Goodnight, Geralt."

"Goodnight," he replies, but it's a long time before sleep comes, and even then, Geralt's dreams are disturbed by the sound of thunder in the background and the feel of a warm body next to him.

* * *

The storm lasts all night and well into the morning. Geralt wakes suddenly, his eyes darting everywhere and searching for any threat of danger nearby, as he does anytime he's not sleeping in his own bed at the castle. The bedroll is empty, save for himself, but he can tell that Jaskier is not too far away.

There's a soft melodic sound coming from somewhere on his left, and when Geralt turns his head in that direction it is to find Jaskier sitting with his back against the old stone wall, lute in hand, plucking distractedly at the strings. The heavy rainstorm from last night is now a drizzle in the morning light but the air is still chilly, which doesn't seem to bother Jaskier in the slightest as he's still wearing that same light white shirt from yesterday and thin blue pants.

However, Geralt is more interested in the lute. Where did Jaskier even get it? Perhaps this little village he seems to frequent has a shop that sells musical instruments. Geralt doesn't think that likely while he watches Jaskier; the lute is exquisitely made, carved with strange symbols, and it could be a trick of the light but the strings seem to glow a bit. Geralt knows that he didn't see anything when he came upon Oldstones the first time, so where does Jaskier even keep the lute hidden?

Eventually, Jaskier looks up to find Geralt staring at him from where he's resting his weight on his elbow. Jaskier smiles widely, the blue of his eyes striking in the low light.

"Morning. Did I wake you up?"

"Yes" he replies.

Jaskier's face falls. "Oh, gods. Sorry, I truly didn't mean--"

"It's fine. I didn't know you played."

"Well, I never told you," Jaskier says. His fingers are slender as they strum the strings distractedly. Geralt can't help but watch. "An old friend of mine gave it to me. She likes to ask for songs as payment for her prophecies."

"So she's a witch."

"A child of the forest; like we all are." Jaskier puts away his lute in a leather case. "Are you hungry?"

He's ravenous, actually. They sit down for breakfast, which consists of the same things they ate for dinner last night. Geralt is grateful that Jaskier is sharing food with him, but he wishes they could eat something more sustainable. His body needs it, although looking at Jaskier across from him, Geralt can clearly see why the man is so skinny for his age. His heart squeezes painfully inside his chest.

Afternoon comes and goes but, luckily for them, it brings a halt to the rain. Geralt spends it reading the only book Jaskier has in his possession, and of course it’s one about herbs and plants of all kinds. The book looks ancient when Jaskier pulls it out of his bag, and has to bring it to Geralt using both hands because of its weight. At least it helps pass the time fast, and Geralt can actually learn what berries not to eat if he ever gets lost again.

The dark clouds above them are gone by evening. But, just as Jaskier said, the ground is impossibly muddy, making it difficult to walk a few paces for someone with both working ankles, and although he is doing much better than yesterday, Geralt doesn't want to risk it. Sometime before the sun completely disappears behind the mountain, Jaskier sets off for the forest. Geralt stays under the partially collapsed roof, staring at the words in the book, trying to make them stick in his mind.

Jaskier has been gone for a while, and the stars are beginning to dot the sky. Geralt doesn't know where this uneasiness comes from, but he has to do _something_ about it.

Then he hears it.

One, two, three. The wolves howl one after the other as if calling each other for a gathering. Geralt's blood curls in his veins and his hand is already gripping the handle of his sword tightly as he gets on his feet. His ankle protests as he trudges through the mud as quickly as he can in the direction he'd seen Jaskier leave. He keeps his ears open for any sound that might give him a clue where the pack is, but the forest is eerily silent.

A high-pitched scream comes from somewhere to his left. _Jaskier_.

Geralt runs to him, his ankle be damned, and finds Jaskier backed up against a tree. His clothes are completely torn and stained with mud and grass, and his boyish face is the color of curdled milk. Geralt has never seen such terror in someone's eyes as he sees in Jaskier's baby blues, and something primal flares up inside Geralt. He approaches Jaskier, who lets out a relieved sigh when he sees him, but Jaskier has no time to say anything because they both hear a twig snapping and a bush rustling behind them.

Geralt doesn't have to turn around to know what it is but he does so anyway, sword gleaming under the moonlight. At first, he doesn't see anything. But then the wolf steps out from the shadows. Its fur is all black, but its eyes are molten gold and _furious_. Geralt knows the animal is hungry, and judging by its huge body, he can guess that it is the alpha. Geralt had read about wolves when he was a child at the castle's great library, and he knows that an alpha's job is to provide food for the pack. Knowing this doesn't make up for the fact that this time they are the food.

"Jaskier," he whispers as the wolf starts circling them. They only have a few seconds until the animal attacks, or the rest of the pack catches up with their alpha. "Whatever happens, you stay behind me."

Jaskier doesn't say anything, but Geralt is sure he's nodding frantically behind him. Good, he thinks. The last thing Geralt needs right now is to keep an eye on him while keeping another on the wolf. He'll have enough on his plate soon, and his sprained ankle is going to give him hell when he starts moving.

The wolf snarls, bends down on his paws, and throws itself right at them.

Geralt steps aside at the last second, putting his sword in front of him, the tip pointing at the animal. He hears Jaskier panting close behind. The animal turns around, showing him rows and rows of sharp canines, but doesn't attack again. Geralt can see it staring at the sword, instinct giving the animal pause to consider the best course of action. _Smart puppy._ But he has to be smarter. Geralt takes the role of the predator, circling the wolf and brandishing the sword in front of it, as the alpha cringes away from it.

But soon enough the wolf gets tired of this dance and decides to take the risk. The wolf stops dead in its tracks and, when it sees an opening on Geralt's left side, throws itself right at him before Geralt can raise his sword. They tumble to the ground, him under the animal's great mass, all air completely knocked out of his lungs.

"GERALT!", Jaskier yells from somewhere behind him, but Geralt is too busy keeping the animal's snapping jaws away from his face as much as he can. His left hand finds the wolf's fur, and he grabs a whole fistful of black hair, twisting it with all his strength. During the fall, he dropped the sword, and now his right hand is searching frantically for it on the forest floor, but all he can touch is wet grass. The wolf's fangs are impossibly close to his nose, and it almost takes a chunk out of it when Geralt falters.

Finally, his fingers make contact with a cold pommel, and _skin_. Geralt spares no time thinking about it; he raises his arm as far up as he can, bringing the sharp end to the wolf's back, and plunges it deep. The wolf lets out a frightened whine, convulses above him, and its jaws snap shut one last time before its whole weight falls on top of Geralt. He grunts heavily as he feels himself squeezed to his limits under the animal, not able to breathe until, suddenly, a pair of hands are gripping his forearms and pulling him out.

* * *

Geralt is not aware they're back at Oldstones until he feels a cup of something hot being placed in his hand. Jaskier's voice is soothing as he checks Geralt up for any injury. His body feels so sore and he can only hope he hasn't broken a rib or something just as annoyingly painful. Jaskier lets Geralt drink his tea before they crawl inside the bedroll. They don't even bother changing out of their dirty clothes but they do take off their shirts, Geralt's soaked in wolf blood.

"Thank you for saving my life, Geralt," Jaskier's voice is barely above a whisper. He takes up the space available next to Geralt in the bedroll, their warm bodies pressed against each other's. Geralt, for all the exhaustion he feels since the adrenaline faded, finds the presence of Jaskier comforting.

"Hmm." He has truly no idea what to say.

"After this, I can totally call you my best friend. Because this is what best friends do, right? Share things _and_ save each other's arses occasionally."

"We're not friends, Jaskier."

Jaskier sighs, squirming to make himself more comfortable, and rests his warm cheek on Geralt's bare shoulder. "Whatever you say, Geralt Wolfslayer and Saviour of Best Friends."

Jaskier wishes him a good night before he's snoring away the day's events. Geralt closes his eyes at long last, mentally denying the fond smile plastered on his face as Jaskier's soft breathing lulls him to sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who haven't read the asoiaf books or seen the show, the witch Jaskier is talking about is the Ghost of High Heart. Spoiler time: she will make a brief cameo in this fic.


	3. Farewell, For Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roach comes back, and Geralt has an unexpected conversation with Jaskier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter isn't beta read, so apologies for any mistakes.
> 
> Comments are LOVE and they help me write a lot faster! So if you can kindly let me know what you think about this chapter, please do.

Geralt hears a splash a few feet away, and barely a second later, Jaskier's howl of joy pierces the air. He opens his eyes from where he was resting them, and watches as Jaskier's pale arms move around in circles, making ripples in the clear water. He grins widely at Geralt before he winks and disappears under the water. 

Geralt sighs, then yelps when he feels a sharp finger prodding his lower back underwater. He moves away from Jaskier with a curse. The boy had decided to spend the nice summer day at what was supposed to be a 'nearby' stream. He had packed a cloth bag with food for two and his lute, and set off early that morning toward the mountain in the east. Geralt hadn't thought he had another choice but to follow him, in his head only to make sure something like last night didn't happen again. In his heart, however… 

By the time they had reached this wide stream where Jaskier had promised him they could swim in, Geralt had needed it badly. He had figured that, since the stream is located at the foot of the mountain, the water would be blessedly cold and would soothe his sore muscles and his twice-damned sprained ankle. He had not been wrong. 

The rush of the stream and of the narrow cascade coming down the mountain are a calming respite from Jaskier's incessant babbling, but Geralt still makes sure to keep an ear out for the other's voice. And for the howls of the wolves. Geralt is not entirely recovered from last night's events, not only for the toll they had taken on his body, but for the bone-deep fear he had felt at seeing Jaskier in danger. A fear he hasn't the slightest clue where it came from, but one as real as the alpha wolf he had killed. 

So when Jaskier yells, "Geralt!" from somewhere quite far away, he allows his heart only a second to twist inside his chest before he's off like a light, swimming to the shore of the stream where Jaskier's voice had come from. But Geralt soon releases the breath he didn't know he had been holding deep in his lungs when he sees an unharmed Jaskier stepping out of the trees, leading something from its reins. 

"Roach?" 

The mare's brown ears perk up at the sound of her owner's voice, and her dark eyes trace Geralt's figure coming out of the water. He limps to where she is, and raises a hand to pet her muzzle fondly.

"I found this sweetheart drinking water downstream. She followed me back here when I gave her an apple," says Jaskier. 

Geralt smiles. "Hey, girl. It's good to see you again." 

"I take that these bags stripped to her saddle are yours, Geralt?" 

"Yes." Jaskier barely waits for his answer before he's helping himself to whatever Geralt had brought along for his journey from the castle. Which is to say, nothing much. Jaskier must seem to think the same as he takes out a pair of riding breeches and clean shirts, a dark grey cape, and a map of the land. 

Jaskier inspects it, frowning slightly. Geralt takes it from his hands and turns it the right way before giving it back. "Oh, thanks." 

"Hmm."

"Hey, Oldstones is not here."

Jaskier points to a clearing in the middle of the forest, where indeed there is nothing but a green dot drawn. Geralt remembers that it was his old maester that had given it to him before he left home, so he tells Jaskier that maybe the old man didn't know Oldstones existed, as he himself hadn't known either. Jaskier says it's fine, and picks up a small stone from the ground, rubbing the edge onto the middle of the green dot on the map, forming a smaller light grey one. 

He folds the map and gives it back to Geralt. "There, so you can show yourmaester that Oldstones does exist." 

Afternoon comes and goes by quickly. Geralt finds himself wishing it would last a bit more; he had given Roach a good rub down as well as two more of the apples Jaskier had brought, since the two days lost in the forest had made her extremely dirty. Jaskier had been his usual self, talking Geralt's and Roach's ears off, but he had told Geralt a bit more about himself. 

The boy had no idea how old he really was since his mother had died in childbirth, and according to Mera, the nearby town's healer, Jaskier had been looked after by the forest surrounding Oldstones until he was a little boy and could walk on his own, where he had wandered to a place called High Heart and his friend the woods witch had taken him in. Geralt calls bullshit on that, but Jaskier is completely serious as he tells his tale, so the prince decides not to voice his thoughts. 

"What about you, Geralt?" 

"What do you mean?", he asks.

"Well, I've already told you my life story. What is yours?" 

Geralt raises an eyebrow. "Don't try to tell me you don't know it already, Jaskier." Everyone knew about the circumstances of his mother's coming to the throne and Geralt's birth. 

But Jaskier looks at him perplexed, as if he hadn't expected there would be more to the story of Geralt's life than that of a ordinary prince's.

"Fine." Geralt is no good with words, but he's willing to try. It's only fair. "My mother, Queen Visenna, was not highborn as the other ladies at court. She was just a kitchen girl, who would fetch the royal family their meals. But one day, when my father saved her from a fire in the kitchens, he fell in love with her. My grandfather was not pleased by this, but he could not disown the only son he had, and did not wish to marry again to have another heir. If he disowned my father, the thrones of Lyria and Rivia would pass to his hated younger brother. So he let my father marry Visenna the kitchen girl. But people whispered the prince had been bewitched by that beautiful woman, and when my grandfather the king passed away unexpectedly, the whispers grew louder. My mother was with child by then."

"With you." 

"No," he replies. "With my older sister. But when Visenna gave birth to her, they found she was dead. Ten years later, on a night with no moon, my mother announced she was with child again. This time, it was me. And on another night exactly like that one, nine moons later, I was born as my father died of the pox in the next bedchamber."

Jaskier's face reflects the pity Geralt would be loathe to see in another person, but not in him. 

"They think it was a sacrifice. Your father needed to die for your mother to bear a living child." 

Geralt nods. "People to this day still think Visenna sacrificed him to a dark god. Truth is, we will never know." 

"Do  _ you _ think that is true?", asks Jaskier after a few minutes submerged in a comfortable silence. 

Geralt doesn't answer, and Jaskier doesn't push it further. This is the first time Geralt has seen him so serious, and it makes his boyish face look more like a man's. His blue eyes are like two sparkling sapphires under the fading light of the day. Geralt sees a falling star as he looks up at the sky, but no wish is made. He doesn't need to. 

Geralt doesn't offer Jaskier a ride back to Oldstones on Roach. The boy is a few feet ahead, singing to himself as he picks numerous wildflowers that he clutches tightly in one hand. By the time they see the ruins of the castle, Jaskier has a little bouquet of white, purple, and blue flowers that he takes up to his nose so he can smell them properly.

Geralt ties Roach to a tree in sight of the castle, and lets her graze the overgrown grass there in peace. He doesn't bother to untie his bags from the saddle, and his stomach churns at the thought of leaving tomorrow for home. There is nothing holding him back here; the storm has passed, his ankle is doing a lot better than yesterday, and Roach is back by his side. But when he dares to look up where Jaskier is trying to light a fire so they can cook a rabbit Geralt had hunted for dinner with his bow and arrows, he doesn't think that is quite true anymore. 

They're ravenous by the time the rabbit is crisp and Geralt hands Jaskier one of its legs. Jaskier in turn gives him a handful of berries, and to Geralt's surprise, he takes a wineskin out of his leather bag. The smell of the strong wine assaults Geralt's nostrils as soon as Jaskier uncaps it. He takes a long gulp, savouring the sweet taste, before he gives it back to Jaskier. 

"I had thought of saving it for a special occasion, but what could be more special than this? The last dinner with your best friend!"

"Jaskier…" 

Jaskier raises a hand. "Don't, Geralt. We  _ are  _ best friends, even if you don't want to admit it. I know we are. So, I need to say farewell to you properly with a toast, and hope that you will come back to visit someday." 

"I was going to say this could not be our last dinner, if you wish so."

"What do you mean?", Jaskier doesn't sound curious, just utterly upset. 

"You can come back to court with me", he says it so fast that it sounds like gibberish to his ears, but Jaskier seems to understand it perfectly. Although not in the way Geralt had hoped. 

"You can't ask me that, Geralt."

Geralt frowns. "What is it that I can't ask of you? I-- I had thought we--  _ fuck. _ "

"You had thought we could spend more time together. I understand, Geralt, I truly do because it is what I want too. But you can't ask me to leave Oldstones, not even for a few days. You wouldn't understand."

"Help me understand, Jaskier."

He shakes his head. "You need to go back home, back to your duties as a prince. I can't leave, but I can't ask you to stay either." 

Geralt laughs bitterly. "I've known you for three days, Jask. You never once cared that I am a prince. If I promise you I will come back to visit, will that suffice for you?" 

"Yes," Jaskier answers, but the sadness in his eyes betrays him.

* * *

The next morning greets them with grey clouds overhead and the promise of more rain. Geralt curses as he wakes up alone, and he palms the bedroll by his side, finding it cold. Jaskier is nowhere to be seen. 

Geralt walks to the edge of the clearing to relieve himself behind a tree, and when he goes back to Oldstones, he sees Jaskier petting Roach's head as he talks to her. Geralt smiles sadly as he walks to them and catches Jaskier's voice telling the mare to behave and do as Geralt says on the way back, even going so far as to tell her to blink once if she promises not to throw Geralt off her back again. 

Jaskier has a familiar bundle in his hand, that he hands to Geralt as soon as he finishes saying 'good morning'. The warmth radiating off the fresh bread inside is soothing, in more ways than one.

Their farewell is not as bitter as Geralt had expected it would be last night. Jaskier is back to his bubbly self, and wraps his arms around Geralt's neck as he hugs the prince goodbye. Geralt lets himself breathe in Jaskier's brown hair tickling his neck; he smells of outdoors and chamomile. Forest and magic. There is no hurry and they take their time, but eventually Geralt lets go.

"Farewell, Prince Geralt. May the road back home be kind to you."

Geralt nods, and gets on his horse. Roach is still looking at Jaskier, and the boy gives her a last soft pat on the head. "Farewell, Jaskier."

* * *

The drizzle turns into a cold hard rain as Geralt enters the city. People on the streets step out of his way in their hurry to get home, but he doesn't think anyone can recognise their prince under his heavy dark cape. The only ones who do are the guards posted at the castle gates, when he takes off his hood and his silver hair betrays his identity. 

Geralt takes out the little bouquet of colorful wildflowers Jaskier gave him before they parted ways, as he waits for the gates to be opened.

They're all withered, and unmistakably dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the next chapter, the one and only Yennefer of Vengerberg makes an appearance.


	4. The Feast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt comes back home to a furious Queen Visenna, and some unexpected news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for abusive behaviour coming from Geralt's mother. Stay safe!!! 💚
> 
> No beta read this time.

Queen Visenna's hair shines like hot spilled blood under the candlelights, but her green eyes matching her golden crown studded with emeralds, are cold as a shard of ice. 

"Where were you?", she utters the question with a voice calm as still water, but Geralt is not fooled. Behind it, there's the volcano waiting for the right moment to erupt. 

Geralt doesn't reply to his mother's question. Visenna places a piece of parchment onto the mahogany table, and grabs a quill between her slender white fingers, setting to write down something. 

"Seeing as you're not going to answer," the queen continues. "Perhaps you can tell me how it is that you hurt yourself." 

Geralt shifts in his seat in front of the queen's desk. He had hoped Visenna wouldn't notice, but in retrospective, that was a folly. As if there is something Geralt could ever hide from her. He's not even sure that his thoughts are safe within his head. 

"I fell off my horse," he says. 

Visenna looks up. "That doesn't explain why you've been a week away from the castle, Geralt."

"I couldn't _walk_ , Mother."

"So you were helped by somebody. Pray tell, by whom?" 

Geralt sighs, running his hand through his face. How could he explain this without his mother finding out about Jaskier? He knows from experience that a conversation with her is like going down a rabbit's hole, and she won't stop pestering you with questions until she's satisfied you have said all that you can say. 

So he tries to be as vague as possible, telling the queen about the help he's received in a town called Fairmarket. It wasn't a lie; Geralt had travelled there after his departure from Oldstones, and had met Mera the healer, who had indeed given him a salve that had done wonders for his ankle, and paid no mind that he was a prince no more than she would to a miner. When he was leaving, Mera had told him that she was glad Jaskier had made a new friend. 

Geralt doesn't care if his mother sends her spies to check his story, but she seems to believe him for now. She has finished writing what he supposes is a letter to someone, and he watches as she puts it carefully in an envelope, and presses her seal into the dark red wax.

"It is fortunate that you are home now, son. We will be having visitors tomorrow, and it makes me very happy that you will be acquainted with them again." 

"Fortunate for you, perhaps," he says, stopping himself when Visenna's words finally sink in. "Wait, what do you mean by 'acquainted with them again'?" 

Visenna smirks. "Lord Stregobor is coming to visit us tomorrow, with all his retinue and a special guest of his. You will surely remember the Lady Yennefer of Vengerberg? She is now Lord Stregobor's ward, since the tragic passing of her parents last winter." 

Geralt frowns, thinking back to his childhood. He has heard his mother mentioned the name of Yennefer many times during his lifetime, but he's having a hard time putting a face to that name. He thinks he has made it when he remembers a dark-haired, purple-eyed little girl about his age, playing swords with him on the courtyard. But the memory is fuzzy, and Geralt finds himself wishing not for the first time that he had never left Oldstones and the company of Jaskier.

That wish is accentuated when Geralt's mind conjures up the image of Lord Stregobor. If there was someone Geralt had been very close to hate during his childhood, it was that man. He doesn't remember Stregobor doing anything ill towards him; the man has always had a smile ready for when he gazed upon Geralt. But he remembers the chill up his spine that would follow those smiles, as if Stregobor was remembering a private joke only he could understand. 

Not to mention the rumours surrounding the man's name. Sorcery, foul murder, and sacrifices. _I can see why you welcome his company, Mother. He has a reputation that matches yours_ , Geralt thinks bitterly. 

"I expect you to be on your best behaviour, Geralt," the queen says. "As befits a prince. I'm not in the habit to repeat myself, so I will say this once: you are to be charming and graceful when you talk to our guests, or I swear I will throw you into the dungeons myself so you can have all the time you need to reflect on your duties with nothing to distract you."

"As you wish, Mother." 

Geralt manages to avoid crossing paths with his mother for the rest of the day. It's not hard to do when you spend it holed up in the library. He had missed the smells of it, old dusty tomes, parchment, and the pots of ink on the desk. Geralt leafs through one of the history books he loves so much, but after reading the same line four times without anything keeping, he puts it away. He walks to his desk and grabs a quill and a piece of parchment, beginning to write a letter to Jaskier, before he stops himself at reading the boy's name written by his own hand. Even if he wrote a letter to Jaskier, there is no way it could reach him without Visenna finding out. She has spies all over the kingdom, even among the servants and garrison of this castle. Besides, he wouldn’t wish for anyone to disturb Jaskier at Oldstones, knowing the boy could come to harm if Geralt’s mother finds out where it is located.

He traces Jaskier’s name on the parchment with his fingertip before crumpling it and throwing it in the trash.

* * *

Geralt is forced to go out and meet Lord Stregobor and his retinue at the castle gates.

Roach is just as pleased to see the sorcerer as her rider is, letting out an irritated snort. Geralt can only pet the side of her neck and muttering an “I feel you, girl,” under his breath. Queen Visenna, on the other hand, can not be smiling any brighter as Stregobor takes her hand in his, bowing low and kissing her knuckles. They exchange pleasantries before the eyes of the whole court, until Stregobor turns his head and sees Geralt standing awkwardly next to his horse.

“Prince Geralt,” the man greets with a nod of his head. His eyes are still as Geralt remembers them, mocking blue, and the smirk is no different. “My, time does fly indeed. You have grown quite a lot since our last meeting.”

Visenna’s sudden presence by his side spurs him into nodding back. “My lord, be welcome to our castle.”

Stregobor hums, seemingly satisfied by Geralt’s answer, but the prince knows that hum could really mean anything. “Your Majesties,” he addresses them. “Allow me to introduce you to these fine lords and ladies that have accompanied me in this long voyage.” The sorcerer proceeds to do so, listing names and titles here and there and pointing to each lord and lady in turn for several minutes. “And lastly but no less important, I present you my ward, the Lady Yennefer of Vengerberg.”

The gold-ornate door to the carriage opens and a lady dressed head to toe in lacey black steps out. Her raven locks flow behind her when she sets foot on the stones, and when she approaches Stregobor and the royal family, Geralt thinks Yennefer could easily be mistaken for a queen. She’s slender and graceful, not a hint of nervousness in her bright violet eyes as she keeps her head high. Yennefer curtsies to Queen Visenna first, words well-chosen as she showers the queen in compliments. Then, it’s Geralt’s turn.

"Your Highness,” she curtsies. “It is an honour to make your acquaintance again.”

"The honour is all mine, Lady Yennefer.”

 _Powerful_ is only word that comes to Geralt’s mind after this exchange.

The welcoming feast for Stregobor and Lady Yennefer is one of the most lavish ones Geralt has ever witnessed in this castle. All kinds of delicacies and dishes from all parts of the continent are laid out on the long table high in the dais, along with jugs of the most expensive wines and liquors. Geralt nurses his fifth cup of a deep red wine as he watches the lord and ladies dance, stifling a yawn. What wouldn’t he give to be lying down on the grass at Oldstones, watching the stars while Jaskier babbles away by his side, a crown of buttercups he would’ve picked earlier adorning his hair. Geralt wonders if Jaskier is doing just that right now, if he knows the name of the stars and constellations he sees dotted on the night sky. If he doesn’t, Geralt could teach him.

Geralt does not ask anyone to dance on account of his sprained ankle. He doesn’t think he would even if it wasn’t sprained, but it is what his mother expects of him, what a queen expects from her heir. Not that Visenna seems to mind right now, talking and laughing and confidently whispering to Lord Stregobor as only lifelong friends do. The man does his part, even being so bold as to circle an arm around the queen’s waist openly. Geralt just drinks.

“Prince Geralt.” Yennefer sits down on the empty high chair by his side, previously occupied by a lord that Geralt has already forgotten the name of. Yennefer raises her goblet and a servant fills it with the same red wine he himself has been drinking. “I was very sorry to hear your ankle is not well enough to dance.”

“Nothing to worry about, my lady,” he says. “Besides, I would only shame myself dancing. I seem to have two left feet, as they say.”

Yennefer smirks. “I sincerely shall like to test that someday. But for now, I would very much like to hear you play. You don’t need feet for that, not even two left ones.”

“Hmm,” is Geralt’s reply. “May I know why you wish for me to play the harp, my lady?”

“You can call me Yennefer.” She curls a strand of raven hair behind her ear. “Judging by your face, you must not remember me well from our few moments spent together in childhood playing with wooden swords in the courtyard. But I do remember them. And now I should like for you to give me another memory, Geralt, since those ones are getting rather dull.”

Geralt ponders Yennefer’s words for a couple of minutes before deciding that it can do no harm. “Very well.”

Visenna doesn’t seem very pleased when Geralt takes position behind the harp with the silver strings. In fact, she looks furious. Geralt knows his mother had thought he had given up on playing the harp, considering it a hobby not fitting for a prince whose skills should be focused solely on swordplay. The icy look in her green eyes gives him a boost of energy and confidence fueled by spite.

He plays the most known songs from across the Continent, varying from lively tunes to romantic ones that make most of the ladies on the dancefloor sigh enamoured and slow-dance with their partners, to sorrowful tunes that make them weep for things they haven’t even lost.

Geralt thinks of calling it a night after the last one, but something stops him, and his fingers seem to move with a mind of their own. The tune is only known to him, something he has been working on since he came back from Oldstones. He hears it as he plays it, closing his eyes and picturing Jaskier running wild through a meadow, cornflower blue eyes dancing under the sunlight. Geralt can almost swear he can smell the forest surrounding Oldstones, feel the magic of that place and Jaskier’s whole being run inside his veins at the speed of light and out of his fingers. The tune is not even joyful, only terribly melancholic. Bittersweet with a tinge of doom.

* * *

Geralt has to go outside to breathe some fresh air after his performance, which had earned him a round of deafening applause but had felt incredibly wrong. He’s seated on a bench overlooking Queen Visenna’s garden, head on his hands. 

“I see now,” says a voice several feet behind him.

“Yennefer.” He had become so lost in his thoughts of Jaskier he had not heard her footsteps.

“Your eyes are like the pages of an open book, Prince Geralt,” she says, taking a seat on the bench by his side. “I have read the sadness in them the second I saw you."

He frowns, not really understanding what Yennefer is trying to get at with this conversation. She seems to take pity on his confusion, though. 

"I have taken the liberty of casting a little spell on your harp after you were done playing the songs the crowd knew, an incentive for you to play what you really wanted to play," she explains. 

Geralt doesn't know what to be shocked the most about. Their first meeting only this morning starts to make sense, Yennefer's looks and attitude, and their conversation from earlier that Geralt had paid no more mind to than he would being anyone else. 

"You are not Stregobor's ward," he says, a chill running down his spine. "You are his apprentice." 

Yennefer purses her lips. "Ward, apprentice, there is really no difference at all." 

The silence is heavy around them. Yennefer's violet eyes look nearly black under the moonlight, not at all like Jaskier's blue ones, honest and eager even under the darkest of skies. 

Geralt just wants to get this over with. "Are you going to inquire about who the song is for, or are you going to pry a name out of my mind, mage?" 

Yennefer has the decency to look somewhat chastened for barely a second. "I have no need to do any of that, Geralt. I haven't cast that spell for my own sake, but for yours. I had thought it would bring some joy to your brooding self, even for a little while. Alas, I was wrong." 

"Clearly."

"However," she proceeds, ignoring Geralt's answer. "For your second question, my answer is that I already know. Not the name, mind you, but the spell made me realize just how deeply you feel about this person. Made me feel a connection to this person's core through your music." 

"Hmm." 

Yennefer extends the palm of her hand to him. For a second, Geralt thinks she's going to ask him any kind of payment for her unasked services, but it is far from that. Geralt watches as something grows from the center of her palm and upwards, first a stem, and then before his eyes the bright yellow buttercup takes form. 

He takes the buttercup from Yennefer's fingers when she holds it up for him, not taking his eyes off it until the mage rises. 

"Perhaps you will meet again." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, it took me three months to update this fic but I'm back!!! 
> 
> I hope you liked this chapter and Yennefer's introduction. Also, I'm sorry if she seems ooc, it is my first time writing about her.
> 
> Jask is not in this chapter, as you can see, but we will hear from him soon! Also, Geralt's silver-stringed harp is a nod to book!Rhaegar for those who haven't read ASOIAF. 
> 
> Comments motivate me to keep writing for this fic, so please if you liked it don't hesitate in commenting because it really helps me, you have no idea. ♥️

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi to me on [tumblr.](http://maegelletargaryen.tumblr.com)


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